What Has Sunk May Rise
by Edgar Night
Summary: Sometimes banishment simply isn't sufficient. Sometimes an execution is the only option.
1. Behind Closed Doors

"_The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown."_

1

Behind Closed Doors

Nauseous waves crashed against the sides of the _Dawn Treader_, and she rocked against their force. Hammocks swayed; belongings slid across the floor. Wood creaked, and there could be heard the unhappy groans of sleeping sailors. The smell of salt water and sweat permeated the air, causing one of the only conscious crewmembers to wrinkle his nose slightly. The _Dawn Treader_ lurched, and Edmund's hammock swung so far he feared for a moment that he would fall out of it.

Edmund felt more than slightly ill—not that he would ever mention it. Eustace had been complaining enough about that sort of thing for three grown men, and Edmund had no desire to burden everyone further.

A soft rosiness began to pour through the small cabin windows, and Edmund heaved a sigh of relief. He could hardly help falling asleep late and waking early, but the hour before dawn could be painfully lonely. When Edmund heard others beginning to stir, he closed his eyes and turned over in his hammock, pretending to be asleep until some more of the men were awake as well. There was something decidedly bothersome about being the first of a large group to wake in the morning.

Eventually, Edmund opened his eyes again and stretched his limbs. He swung his legs over the side of his hammock, bare feet landing solidly against the wood floor. Wobbling slightly as he walked, Edmund made his way to his haphazard pile of possessions. He dug through his clothes to find something he could change into. After all, what self-respecting king in his right mind would wander about in his nightclothes?

When he had changed into day clothes and slipped into a pair of stockings and boots, Edmund made his way to the deck. Others of the crew walked hither and thither, most to the galley for breakfast. Edmund, whose stomach had not yet adjusted to the sea—as evidenced by his persistent nausea—decided it would be better to go to the prow without eating. Once there, he leaned against the rail and stared out over the waves. He inhaled deeply; the warm, crisp Narnian air filled his lungs, and a single word rang out in his mind:

_Home_.

Edmund grinned to himself.

"I see you're in good cheer," said a voice. Edmund turned to see a smiling Caspian walking up the steps towards him. "Sleep well, then?"

"Well enough," Edmund replied, turning his gaze back to the water.

"Good." Caspian situated himself next to Edmund and began to munch on a piece of dried meat.

Edmund cleared his throat. "So," he said. "When do we reach the Lone Islands?"

"We should be there by nightfall." Caspian tore off a chunk of meat and offered it to Edmund, who politely refused.

Edmund hesitated before he spoke again. "…what do you expect to find when we get there?"

Caspian exhibited the same hesitation. When Edmund glanced at the Telmarine-turned-Narnian, the latter had turned his own gaze to the horizon. "Truth be told, I don't know. I hope to find at least some of the answers I seek, but..." Caspian frowned. "I don't know."

The sun was high in the sky by the time either of them spoke again.

"Well," said Caspian. He clapped Edmund on the shoulder, which startled the younger man considerably after so long a silence. "What say you to a little spar to pass the time until we make landfall?"

Edmund beamed. "I accept."

Edmund never intended to tell Caspian that, from a practical standpoint, he had actually _won_ that battle—it was best not to harm the confidence of a comparatively new ruler. He simply drank the water offered to him and did his best to ignore his insufferable cousin's moaning.

When the cry announcing that land had been sighted rang through the air, Edmund felt the greatest of thrills rush through him. He strapped a sword to his belt—oh, how he had missed that weight on his hip!—and rushed back to the prow. He squinted, straining to see the land. It took a moment, but he could see, on the edge of the horizon, a dark blur, which slowly gained definition as he stared. Edmund didn't have to wait long before he could make out the blocky shapes of buildings.

When the longboats were being prepared to be lowered a few hours later, Edmund was one of the first to board. Lucy giggled at his almost bouncing enthusiasm.

The sun had half-hidden itself in dusk by the time Edmund's boot struck stone. Still the thrill of adventure remained, sending a tingling sensation through his fingers that he attempted to calm by gripping the hilt of his sword tighter. He ignored Eustace's losing battle against his own legs in favour of focussing his hearing on the ambient noises of the island—

"Listen," said Lucy. "…Where is everyone?"

—of which there were alarmingly few.

Somewhere, a bell tolled, startling the island's avian life from their resting places with a flurry of wings. Edmund unsheathed his sword and held it at the ready as he made his way up the path towards Narrowhaven's outskirts. Caspian left some final instructions with Reepicheep before he followed.

Edmund tried not to concentrate on the deep wrongness of the situation. Narrowhaven was a town that, in the Old Days, would have been bustling with activity at the first sign of a royal visit. And on this night, she was as silent as a sepulchre. He felt a shudder pass through him.

"I thought you said these islands were under your control," sulked Eustace. "Can't you just order them to come out?"

"That would be tyrannical," Caspian said firmly.

"…so?"

Edmund cast a sidelong glare at his cousin of such intensity that the younger closed his mouth immediately after opening it. Eustace pressed his lips firmly together and didn't make much noise after that.

The small group made their way through winding streets of sand and loose stone, surrounded on all sides by austere clay buildings with empty windows. The only sound to be heard was the crunch of shoes into sand and the occasional call of a wayward crow. These, the only indicators of life on the island, were more harsh in contrast to the stifling silence than they were reassuring.

Eventually, a building more ornate than the others came into view at the end of a road. Edmund could see a lamp burning in an upper floor window. He silently directed Caspian's attention towards it.

_Crch, crch, crch, crch._

Edmund's eyes darted about in every direction, and he wondered if there was a way to mask footsteps on such a surface. He didn't like being heard in such an exposed environment.

_Crch, crch._

When the iron door was within reach, Edmund stepped aside to let Caspian pass. Lucy stood behind him as Caspian's knuckles met metal. She gently squeezed his arm, then lowered her hand to grasp his fingers. He smiled faintly and squeezed back before pulling away.

After Caspian knocked the third time without a reply, he suggested forcing the door open. No-one disagreed. Five attempts and several sore shoulders later, the door gave, and a decidedly unpleasant odour wafted through the opening.

Eustace gagged and wrinkled his nose. "What a horrid stink," he groaned. "If it's all the same to you lot, I'm staying out here."

_You never know,_ Edmund thought with a smirk, _the British Consul might be in there_. He said nothing aloud, however.

Caspian unsheathed a dagger and rested it in Eustace's hand. "You'll need something to protect yourself."

Eustace blinked, evidently surprised that he was being allowed to avoid this particular undertaking.

The remaining three made their way into the house. There was little of note in any of the rooms, aside from a few odd trinkets here and there on the shelves and tables, and an incomprehensible diagram nailed to one wall. The terrible odour grew in intensity as they went deeper in, and Edmund could feel the morning's nausea returning at the smell.

"Nobody's here," Lucy said softly.

"I'm not so sure," Edmund whispered back. "There _was_ a lamp burning upstairs when we were outside."

Caspian shushed them, taking the first step onto the stairs. Edmund followed silently, with Lucy close behind. It was at the top of the stairs that the odour was the worst.

Edmund noticed a drop of red liquid beneath a closed door and frowned. He opened the door and immediately jumped back, sword raised and heart racing. Inside was the shattered body of an old man, and the walls of the room were splattered with his blood. On a desk just beyond the mangled corpse, a lamp burned cheerily.

"…I think I know where that smell's coming from," Edmund called out shakily.

—

A/N: So. I'm not dead. And stuff. I know, I know, it's been over a year since I've updated/uploaded… _anything_, but SHUSH I DO WHAT I WANT.

…so yeah. I don't really have much of an excuse for my horribly prolonged absence, but LOOK I'M HERE NOW ARE YOU HAPPY

It should be noted that _The Sword and the Screwdriver_ is pretty much on indefinite hiatus, and the only other 'fic besides this one that I'm hoping to get anything done with is _From Dusk 'til Dawn_. So yeah.

Hi again, all you lovely people.


	2. What They Found There

2

What They Found There

Edmund heard footsteps, too light to be Caspian's. "Lu, don't look—"

"Oh." Lucy's voice was pale. "...that's a lot of blood."

Edmund cringed. He glanced up at his little sister and tried to evaluate her expression. Her mouth hung open and her eyes bulged slightly. Edmund stood swiftly to his feet and pulled her to him, gently pressing her face into his shoulder to shield her from the gruesome sight. She pushed him away.

"What _happened_ to him?" Lucy asked.

Turning his attention back to the corpse, Edmund frowned slightly in concentration. The torso had been torn to ribbons, although little blood had pooled in the wounds. The head was split through at the centre—_don't think about the grey stuff, don't think about it don't think about it it's just some bizarre sort of jam don't __**think**_—and the arms and legs had been torn roughly at every joint. The skin was uneven and splotched with brown and red.

Edmund pressed the back of his hand to his nose. "I don't know," he confessed.

He turned back to the open door, through which a frowning Caspian walked. Caspian's eyes went wide as they scanned the remains, and he immediately knelt beside Edmund to look at them more closely. His hands hovered over the body, searching. For what, Edmund did not know.

"What are you doing?" asked Lucy.

"I want to know who he is." Caspian paused. "Was," he corrected himself. "Edmund, could you help me turn him over?"

Swallowing his nausea, Edmund nodded. He cringed as he slipped his hands beneath the torso, trying to ignore the slick _squelch_ it made as it moved. The same red and brown abscesses that plagued the rest of the flesh were present on the face, rendering it unrecognisable. The mouth hung open slightly, revealing white teeth.

Edmund glanced at Caspian. Hesitated. "Do you know who he was?"

Caspian frowned and shook his head.

Lucy tip-toed towards the lamp at the window and blew it out. She began to inspect the parts of the room not covered with gore. After a moment's hesitation, Edmund stood to join her.

"What are you looking for?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know," Lucy confessed. She gestured to the corpse. "I just don't want to look at _that_."

Edmund chuckled weakly. He glanced back at the dead man and his living observer. "I wonder..." He stepped back to the corpse and went down on all fours, searching the body for some way to identify it.

His inquisitive fingers found a coin purse on the blood-stained belt, a set of throwing knives and a short sword a short distance away from the right leg. The blade of the sword was covered in a thin, fleshy film that, when touched, made a soft _squelch_ing sound. Edmund crawled over the torso, disregarding the blood that was now smeared across his knees, and inspected one of the hands.

"Caspian!" he hissed. He jerked his head towards the severed extremity. When he knew for certain that Caspian was close enough to see, he lifted up the hand for Caspian to take a look. Voice hushed, Edmund said, "Do you see this?" He indicated the ornate ring at the base of the forefinger.

Caspian leaned in to inspect the hand, squinting slightly. His eyes widened, and he swallowed, reaching out to brush his fingertips against the ring and the emblem it carried.

"Do—do you recognise the symbol?" Edmund whispered. Caspian nodded mutely. "...what is it?"

Caspian said nothing for several long moments, instead staring, dumbfounded, at the ring. He barely breathed, though his mouth hung open. Concerned, Edmund rested his free hand on Caspian's shoulder. After a moment, Caspian blinked, apparently pulled from his brief stupor, and swallowed.

"Lord Bern," he whispered.

Edmund frowned. "Is he—" He wetted his lips before correcting himself. "Was he one of the seven?"

Caspian nodded. "What _did_ this?" he said, voice crisp.

No one could answer. Edmund looked up at Lucy, who had taken up the task of exploring the dead lord's desk. Her hands pressed into every indentation in the wood before she moved on to opening the drawers. She pulled out bottles of what appeared to be medicine, sheets of blank parchment, several dozen scrolls with official-looking marks in the seals, and a vial full of a salt-like substance.

Lucy glanced in Edmund's direction and held up one of the scrolls. "D'you think we should look?" When he nodded, she gently tossed the scroll to him.

Edmund dropped the severed hand to catch the scroll, wincing slightly at the dull _thump_ it made as it struck the mud-brick floor. He hesitated before breaking the seal. The wax split easily in his grip. Quickly, he slipped a finger under the parchment and unrolled it. Within was a shipment chart for various spices and dried fruits, which was of no interest to him.

He rested the scroll beside the lord's torso, somewhere near where the arm once met the shoulder. "Can I have another?" he asked Lucy, rather like a child requesting seconds on pudding.

Lucy tossed a second scroll, the seal of which Edmund swiftly broke. He unrolled it and scanned the parchment. A summary of the town's fiscal year. The numbers rather made his head spin, but none of them looked particularly useful.

Five scrolls later, and still they knew nothing about what had torn Lord Bern asunder. They did know that trade in the Lone Islands was flourishing, and that the population had been decreasing—wait. Edmund unrolled one of the scrolls again and stared at the figures depicted therein. The population had _rapidly_ decreased over the past two years. In comparison to years prior, the death rate had nearly doubled, while the birth rate remained almost exactly the same.

"Caspian, did you see this?" he asked, handing the scroll over. As Caspian's eyes ran down the page, Edmund said, "Did you know this was happening?"

"...no," Caspian replied grimly. "I only once received a full census from the Islands."

"And you never asked about that?" Lucy said, voice full of incredulity.

"When I did, the governor avoided the subject." Caspian wrinkled his nose. "To be honest, I had other matters occupying my mind at the time."

Under other circumstances, Edmund might have pointed out that the rapid population decline of his country's territory was a matter that should have occupied a king's mind just as fully as a war. At this point in time, however, he didn't feel like starting an argument of policy. He simply focussed on finding out if any of the remaining scrolls explained this chilling death rate and tried to suppress his frustration at finding so little information.

Edmund wetted his lips and huffed at the pile of already read scrolls. He turned his attention back to Caspian. "Did you ever hear anything about a disease, or a wave of animal attacks, or...?"

Caspian shook his head. "No, nothing."

Edmund frowned and continued looking through the scrolls. Tax documents, tax documents, complaints from citizens, tax documents... Lucy found a single scroll that bore no seal buried amongst the others. She glanced at the two men.

"I think it's a letter," she said.

Caspian blinked. "To whom?"

Lucy squinted at the page. "Governor... Gumpas." She wrinkled her nose at the name.

"What does it say, Lu?" asked Edmund, frowning.

Lucy took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"_To Our Esteemed Governor, regarding the matter of the vanished sailors._" She blinked several times in rapid succession, staring at the words for a moment before continuing. "_…regarding the matter of the vanished sailors. _

"_It has come to my attention, despite your impressive attempts at sweeping the matter beneath a carpet, that fisher-citizens from these isles have been disappearing—with their boats, no less—for the better part of a year. I have also been informed by reliable sources that you have contributed to the deaths of your own people by offering them up to the sea! _

"_I do not seek to accuse; I only ask for some explanation of your behaviour, a reason for these... sacrifices, or whatever you wish to call them._

"_Regards, Lord Bern_."

Lucy rolled the scroll back up, her brows pulled together slightly. "...sacrifices?"

Edmund took the scroll and unrolled it, staring at each individual word to make sure she hadn't made somehow misread the lord's letter. Read it again. And again. She hadn't misread a single word. He felt his gorge rise at the thought of any ruler committing such an act—killing his own people, and _for what?_

"Perhaps Lord Bern was misinformed," Edmund murmured, passing the scroll to Caspian.

"I intend to find out," said Caspian. "But why is the message here and not in the hands of Gumpas?"

Lucy glanced at the mutilated corpse with unease in her eyes. "I don't think it was ever sent."

"Or," said Edmund, standing and crossing the room to retrieve the last remaining scroll. "…or…" He peeled away the seal, which had already been broken before, and glanced down the page. Swallowed. "Or he got something that made sending it pointless." He tossed the scroll to Caspian.

"_To the Honourable Lord Bern_," Caspian read, "_If you are reading this, then I am more than likely dead. If, by some miracle, I have survived the coming night, disregard what I am about to say and, if you would, burn this message. _

"_It has come for me. The sacrifices should no longer be necessary—I give you full authority to end them. I am sorry._" Caspian visibly tensed as he read the next three words. "_Signed,_ _Gov. Gumpas_."

* * *

><p>AN: Aaagh, NaNo is going to be the death of me. Thank God it's nearly over. Anyway. Uh. Chapter two, yo. I promise the next few whatnots will be more exciting than this.


	3. Dead Man's Folly

A/N: (OOH THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE IS HAPPENING BEFORE THE CHAPTER I MUST HAVE SOMETHING INTERESTING TO SAY. ...except I don't—not particularly, anyway—but eh.)

I admit without an ounce of shame that the first two chapters were me getting comfortable with the characters, since we'll be stuck with each other for a while. I solemnly swear to be more interesting from here on out.

...Maybe.

* * *

><p>3<p>

Dead Man's Folly

The three—with a grousing and confused Eustace in tow—had walked to what they hoped was the governor's house, encountering no other living beings on the way. Lucy stood at the door, glancing about warily.

"I still don't understand what all the hullabaloo is about," grumbled Eustace. "Why can't we just leave?"

Lucy cast Eustace a long-suffering glance before turning back to face the door. Caspian had explained the matter no less than three times in the course of the walk, but Eustace would not accept these explanations. As such, everyone grew even more exasperated with the boy than they had been before, if such were possible.

"These are my citizens," Caspian said for the fourth time. "I want to know what they're being slaughtered for."

Edmund ignored most of what was said after that, having heard it all already so many times before. He turned his head to see Lucy's expression better. Her mouth was twisted and pressed in distaste, and her brow furrowed slightly. Edmund thought she looked slightly ill.

"You all right?" he asked.

Lucy nodded. "I'm not sure if I want to go in yet," she confessed. "Considering how we found Lord Bern..."

"You can always stay out here if you want," Edmund said. He glanced at Eustace and Caspian, who were still arguing. "...er."

Lucy followed his gaze and snickered quietly. "I'll take my chances with the governor," she said. "The worst he can do is be dead; Eustace'll moan my ears off."

Edmund snorted. He had already reached for the door by the time he realized Lucy was in the process of opening it herself. Lucy flashed a small smile before crossing the threshold. Grinning to himself, Edmund followed.

The only word that came to mind to describe the governor's house was "shiny." Nearly every surface glimmered in one way or another, whether with gold or silver. Even the multitudinous shoes lying beside the doorway sparkled with precious stones.

Edmund scanned the show of opulence with faint distaste. The wealth on display bore a thick aura of wrongness that chilled him to his core. Trying to ignore the feeling, Edmund inhaled deeply through his nostrils. A viscous stench overwhelmed him, sticking to the walls of his throat. He gagged, tears pricking at his eyes.

"I wondered when you'd smell it too," said Lucy.

"Dunno how I didn't notice it until now," Edmund admitted, pressing a hand over his nose.

Lucy didn't reply, instead covering her mouth and nose with the crook of her arm. She turned to Edmund, uncertainty furrowing her brow. He took his hand from his own face and rested it on her shoulder. Straightening, Lucy turned and stepped into a corridor, her tread still hesitant. Edmund followed close behind and tried not to breathe.

The inner chambers were plain in comparison to what Edmund had first seen. Gilded lamps still adorned the tables and walls, but everything else was almost... subdued. The walls were undecorated stone, the floors utterly bare aside from a few jewelled vases. Edmund dared to inhale through his nose, testing the air to find that the strong odour had somehow gotten even stronger. His stomach churned, and he immediately clamped a hand over his face again.

Edmund and Lucy passed into a study covered in a thin coat of dust. A lonely inkpot lay overturned on the writing-desk, spilt contents long dried, and the one bookshelf in the room was completely bare. Tentatively, Edmund tested the air again. His vision swam at the stench, and he found himself wondering how a smell so odious could even exist.

"If the body's not here," he said as he pinched his nostrils shut, "then it's got to be very, _very_ close."

"I hope so. The sooner we find Gumpas, the sooner we can leave."

A familiar shout rang through the air. "Hey, where've you gone off to? ...I say, this house is a labyrinth!"

"In the study," Edmund called out. "Three lefts and a right from the first room without shoes."

"Ah, thank you." There was a grunt and a soft thump, which Edmund assumed was Caspian tripping on one of the carpets. Lucy stifled a giggle. "A dangerous labyrinth, at that," the Telmarine added, voice slightly breathier than it had been.

Edmund unplugged his nose and wiped down the desk with his sleeve, coughing against the cloud of dust that assaulted his lungs. When he could breathe again, he bent slightly and peered at the now clean surface. Thin crescent lines had been scratched into the wood, either by a small knife or a particularly sturdy pen. Some of the marks formed whole words, but these were significantly less defined than those that did not.

"Lucy, come see this," he said. When he saw her lean over the desk at the edge of his vision, he continued: "D'you see these markings?"

She nodded before leaning further to see them better. "Maybe he pushed too hard on the paper when he wrote letters."

"Maybe... but who writes letters made up entirely of scribbles?" Edmund traced one of the marks with his forefinger, taking care not to press on the wood in case it splintered.

"Do you think he was carving something? Or maybe he contracted someone to make the desk a bit more decorative?"

"I don't think there's enough of a pattern for that, though," Edmund murmured. "And if this is meant to be decorative, then the governor's got terrible taste in desk art."

Lucy let out a small laugh at that. "What do you think they are, then?"

"...I don't know," he confessed. "From the looks of it," he added, tracing more of the curved lines, "Gumpas really liked round things." Hearing footsteps, he turned and saw Caspian inspecting the bookshelf.

"No books," Caspian remarked. "How strange." He knelt down and inspected the lower levels, _hmm_ing quietly as he did so.

Confused, Edmund stepped over and knelt next to Caspian. "What are you looking for?"

"I'm not sure, but I think..." Caspian frowned and stroked the stones immediately in front of the bookshelf. "This has been moved rather a lot," he said. "Look at the scuffing."

Edmund, now getting rather excited, rearranged himself so as to better see the dusty flooring. Indeed, several rather deep, arcing marks had been made in the floor at that spot, all in the same pattern and at the same angle.

"Maybe there's something behind this." Caspian put a hand on Edmund's shoulder and flashed a roguish half-grin. "D'you mind helping me move it?"

Edmund shook his head, quickly pulling himself to his feet. He gripped the panels tightly while Caspian pressed his palms against the side. Caspian gave a brisk nod, and Edmund tugged on the bookcase as hard as he could. Much to his surprise, it moved incredibly smoothly—more like a closet door than a heavy piece of furniture. To his annoyance, he couldn't see what was behind the shelf when it was moved.

"Ooh," breathed Lucy. "I wish we had had secret rooms like this at home."

Caspian was first to step into this chamber, while Edmund held onto the bookcase to make sure it didn't move back and crush him. When Lucy had passed through, he let go for several seconds and found that it held fast. And so he followed.

The secret room was the plainest of all the chambers in the house. It housed only a stool and a three-legged table. When Edmund's eyes adjusted to the darkness, however...

"Oh."

The walls were layered with hundreds of pieces of parchment, each one nearly black at first glance. When Edmund looked a little closer, it became evident that the charcoal markings on each sheet formed dozens upon dozens of repeated shapes of various size.

"Looks like he was a bit of an artist after all," Lucy said breathlessly. "Dedicated, too."

"Dedicated or mad?" asked Caspian, pulling a sheet off the wall. "What sort of person draws nothing but spheres over and over?"

Edmund peered at a sheet that stood out starkly against the rest. "Not just spheres," he murmured. He plucked it from the stone and scanned the clearly penned words upon it. As he took in the words, he felt a cold dread creep through his blood. "Come look at this."

Lucy reached him first. "'_It has become evident that the artefact given to me by my foreign visitor is not a benign gift,_'" she read."'_Since receiving it, I have been experiencing the most vivid of night terrors, and I now fear sleep as much as—and maybe more than—I fear death. _

"'_Every time I look at the thrice-damned thing, its surface is altered in some fashion. Of late, I imagine I see faces swirling around within, but I believe this is an effect of the past several nights' sleep deprivation. I have been recording its alterations in the form of charcoal sketches, in case there is some importance or hidden meaning behind the shifts. Perhaps it is trying to communicate._

"'_...Perhaps I am going insane._'" Lucy shivered.

There was a long silence, during which Edmund folded the piece of parchment and pushed it up his sleeve.

Caspian cleared his throat. "See if there are any more," he said, setting out to search the room.

"Shouldn't we look for Gumpas first?" asked Lucy. Caspian did not reply.

Edmund inhaled deeply through his nostrils, tears springing to his eyes at the smell. "If he's anywhere in the house," he choked out, "he should be here."

"But he isn't," Lucy said, her tone one of confusion and irritation.

"I know." Edmund wetted his lips. "But the smell is worst here, and—"

"Edmund." Caspian pressed a crumpled sheet of parchment into Edmund's hand. "Read it."

Slightly annoyed by the tone of the command, Edmund unfolded the parchment and squinted at the words it contained. He glanced at Caspian, whose gaze was hard as a dragon's hide. Edmund wetted his lips again and began to speak.

"'_I have sent away my servants, every last one. They must never know who was to blame for the ruin that has befallen these isles. _

"'_I am alone. All is well. Or, at the very least, all is as well as it can be under these circumstances._

"'_I sent a message to Lord Bern with the last of my manservants. The command has been made, and no more slaves will die in my place, for I will not survive the night. I can hope as much as I like that the Thing that hunts me will pass over my dwelling, but it is folly to truly believe it. I will die tonight. _

"'_I will die tonight. I neither know nor care who takes up my position after I have been consumed. It is burden enough to remember that this is the night of my execution. _

"'_Damn that sphere. I know without an iota of uncertainty that it is the cause of my troubles. No insanity of this sort happened before I was given it. I should have had a bounty put on the head of the foreigner who placed it in my hands._'" There was no more room on the page after this, but when Edmund turned the sheet over he found that there was still more that had been written.

"'…_I suppose it is too late for my ire to be of any use. It's too late for much of anything to be of use. The only reason I'm writing at all is to pass the time and to keep myself from going into hysterics. _

"'_My candle is beginning to go out. I have no intention of going out to fetch a replacement. I will not leave this chamber of my own volition until dawn. I am..._ _I am too afraid to go out now. I have been afraid to leave this chamber for a long time. Perhaps this makes me a coward. Any man who calls me coward is welcome to take my place and see how brave _he_ is._

"'_It has begun to rain. If I let the sound lull me to sleep, perhaps my death will be a peaceful one. Did the slaves suffer when they were consumed? Does it even matter?_

"'_The answer to the latter, I think, is no. Nothing matters at the moment but the coming of my executioner. How much time have I spent here, hunched over my papers, waiting for Death's arrival? Time is meaningless here._

"'…_oh. I hear him. I wonder if his entrance will harm my things. He is nearing, snarling and shrieking and hissing as he comes. I am going to die. He is coming. I am going to die he is coming I am going—_'" The rest was a series of illegible scribbles and ink splotches, ending in a single line that ran to the end of the page.

"I don't think we'll be finding Governor Gumpas any time soon," said Caspian in a low voice.

"So what do we do now?" Lucy asked.

Caspian swallowed and took a deep breath. "We continue eastward. We keep searching for the remaining lords."

"What of the Islands?" said Edmund, folding the parchment and stuffing it in his sleeve with its fellow. "Shouldn't we make sure these... sacrifices stop?" Hoping that speaking further would scrub away the bitter taste the word _sacrifices_ had left on his tongue, he continued: "And it would—I think it would be a good idea to set up Gumpas's replacement." He glanced at Lucy, who gave a brisk nod of agreement.

"Indeed," Caspian said. He paused for a moment before nodding. "Indeed. We'll remain here until matters of state are sorted out."

-(...)-

They remained for two more days, taking care to keep the circumstances of Gumpas's death a secret. Their business was to repair the damage he had done, not to cause widespread panic. Caspian instated a new governor—a warm, soft-spoken man with a salt-and-pepper beard, a vast array of historical and legal texts, and a reassuring résumé.

The new governor's first act in office was to wish them a safe journey and provided them with provisions to last a full week at sea. He offered to throw a festival in the royals' honour, which they quickly but graciously declined. By noon on the third day, the _Dawn Treader_'s sails were unfurled and the Lone Islands were at her back.

Lucy recounted the first day's events to anyone who cared to listen, which set Eustace a-moaning about how he should have been part of the search group. She was able to silence his complaints rather quickly by describing the terrible smells in Gumpas's house.

Caspian retreated into the captain's quarters and did not return until several hours after supper.

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><p>Secondary AN: ...phooey, I was hoping I'd be able to update in a somewhat timely manner. Sorry 'bout that. -meep- But hey, NaNo's over, and I've been having pretty good bursts of writing-urges for this lately.

...am I allowed to request reviews? -shifty eyes- (And I see you there, person who shall remain nameless in case they don't want their name here. Thank you very, very much for putting this on alert. :3)


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